The theme of the first, of course, is due to H. Rider Haggard.
Ayesha in the Fire
This life beyond life no life can now bear,
fair beyond fair, and yet still more fair;
this fire and light beyond human desire
quicken the heart to nothing but fire.
No god are you, of endless grace,
but ape of god, of mortal race!
Though with the flame of heaven's rod
your light is graced, you are no god.
Defer all darkness by year and age,
yet it is Death who writes your page;
for long eons live, yet shall you die,
the dimness fall upon your eye,
the darkness drag your frame to dust,
and time turn back, betray your trust,
and ravish your spirit, your age-old name,
by fire that quickens your soul with flame.
Self-Critique
'Tis true he's not the greatest bard
to grace the human race;
his poems are filled with little lines
that hang in filler-space.
He has a certain fervor
(more a fever in the brain);
it substitutes for music,
thus all his lyrics strain.
And he preaches like a pastor
and lectures all the day;
I'd love to love his poems
but his words get in the way.
He is pompous and pretentious --
yes, a flash of wit thrown in,
but his taste is all the former,
the clunky prosist's sin.
And, boy, he likes a good conceit
(all conceited people do!),
writ in vain and empty words
dressed up like clerihew.
